


Consolation Prize

by NocturnalLament



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Bets & Wagers, Christmas, Christmas Caroling, Christmas Fluff, Competition, Fluff, Kyman - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Rivalry, Singing, Slash, Slight background Creek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5637646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NocturnalLament/pseuds/NocturnalLament
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For years, a battle has raged on between South Park's two Christmas Caroling groups. Ever since the enigmatic, insanely attractive Kyle and his fellow carolers from the nearby town of Fairplay infringed on his territory, Cartman has been determined to beat them to the point of  obsession - but this year, he has a plan to finally show them who owns this town. One unexpected wager later and things become a lot more intriguing for them both, and more than Cartman's pride is left on the line...<br/>Kyman fluff for the awesome SynapticFirefly</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consolation Prize

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SynapticFirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SynapticFirefly/gifts).



The snowflakes meander through the darkening skies, ice crystals reflecting the light from within the apartment. Sure, the heating is jacked up as much as is possible without it incinerating anything within several feet of the radiators, but here beside the window I can still feel the bitter bite of the daunting December breeze.

I pull my scarf tighter around my neck, burying my cheeks into the soft fabric in search of a brief respite from the winter season. Whilst it snowed throughout the year in this obscure corner of the Colorado mountains, the relentless cold at this time of the year is enough to turn mulled wine to frozen mush and turn your toes black and blue with frostbite if you dare to venture outside with less than three pairs of socks.

“Eric, how on are you going to stand over there? We need your input.” whines Wendy, an unwelcome interruption to my reveries. Typical.

“I'm thinking.” I insist, rolling my eyes regardless of the fact my back is turned to them. No shit they need me. Sure their singing is decent enough, but it lacks that energy, that _flair_ that pure musical talent can bring. The cherry atop a mediocre cake makes it that much sweeter.

...a cherry? Not quite. Calling me a garnish would be an understatement, I'm essentially the foundation of the entire group. I'm more akin to the delicious biscuity base of a figurative cheesecake, the sweet pastry of a lyrical vol-a-vent.

The analogy makes my mouth water moreso than Bebe's pathetic attempt at cookies – the girl can't ice Christmas trees to save her life! It's making a mockery of the entire season.

Naturally, I take this holiday _very_ seriously.

“If you don't come and help I'll put 'Do they know it's Christmas time' on the list.” Kenny chuckles, reclining on my sofa as he gulps down his third mug of hot coca. The guy might insist he joined to give me 'moral support', but we all know he can't afford much in the way of food so he tries his best to make the most of his spoils. Honestly, he's a brilliant singer. He dismisses it every time you mention it but he is certainly talented – in his younger he even spent a brief time in some fancy musical school in the shitty part of Europe.

“God no!” I groan, pinching my nose in exasperation. “No one wants to hear songs about children in Africa at this time of year. It's Christmas people! We need some damn spirit!”

“I think you already have plenty.” Drones Craig, picking balls of fluff from the sleeve of his criminally ugly snowman jumper (courtesy of his neurotic fiancé that had defected to the kitchen to replenish his thermos for the fourth time already, no doubt). “Why do you even care how many donations we get? You obviously don't care much for charity. As long as we still get given cake and coffee it's fine by me.”

“It's the principle of the thing!” I insist, pacing irately before landing on the sofa, hands pursed thoughtfully over my mouth. “As you all know, there is a great threat to our group, and this year I am _determined_ that we will establish our dominance. South Park is _our_ turf, and we all know _**exactly**_ what I'm talking about.”

“Not this again.” Protests Wendy, and several others nod in agreement. Traitors! Do they not realize this is a matter of pride?

“Yes, this again. This is _the last year_ those fuckers from Fairplay are going to give us trouble.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

For the last four years, we've been subjected to thee same tune. We'd spend weeks preparing our songs, readying ourselves and trying to establish the winning edge, yet every year a group from a the town just North would come and trump us completely – leaving with far more donations than we had managed to raise year after year. It had become an annual tradition for us to meet after the deadline of 10pm and compare our winnings after our confrontation several years prior, a practice that had always resulted in disappointment in the past… but not this time. I'm sure of it.

There is hardly a difference when it boils down to talent as a whole, but they always manage to gain the upper hand.

It might as well count as cheating to have an angel in such a meagre chorus.

I remember the first time they'd come to South Park, all adorned in tinsel and red-faced from the cold. We'd finished a rendition of _White Christmas_ and we were preparing to start a round of _All I Want For Christmas Is You,_ trudging down the road towards the town centre. I'd stopped in my tracks, startled as we were greeted with an alien sight upon turning the corner.

Light shone from the Miller's open doorway, illuminating the faces of the gathering upon their patio. The sweet melody of clichéd Christmas tunes had taken us by surprise, unused to any other party infringing on our territory. I'd had the idea to march over there and give them a piece of my mind, but I was frozen in place once I'd spotted the young man at the forefront of the mislain troops.

It's an easy mistake, to perceive him as a man… but upon closer observation it is clear this being is anything but. Face bright as he sang, his radiant viridian eyes shimmered with an ethereal glow on his perfectly sculpted face. Sharply angled nose, strong jaw as if carved into pale marble; vibrant garnet coloured curls framed his handsome face, peeking out from beneath a forest green ushanka hat.

It had taken me several seconds to relearn how to breathe, and several more to try and quell the tremors in my chest. I'm not the type to obsess over fantasies of 'love at first sight' or such idyllic fairytale nonsense, but I wouldn’t lie – the term lust didn't quite do it justice. I wanted him, but in a way that was almost unknown to me. I've wanted to fuck before, hungered after the subjects of fleeting fancies like a ravenous cat eyeing a particularly juicy mouse. This was something different entirely – mixed in with the want was reverence and awe, such as men would set their eyes unto the Gods. I'd seen him for all of a minute before their song had reached completion, and by that point my pulse had already accelerated worryingly between my winded lungs.

After a rather awkward confrontation, we'd reached a compromise – we'd both visit the houses within the town, and try not to infringe to greatly on the other's efforts. Naturally. I couldn't bring myself to keep my mouth shut and I ended up making some snide comment. My exact words evade me now, but I remember the look in his eyes as if it was yesterday. He'd raised one brow questioningly, playful smirk on his lips as he rose to my challenge.

“You think you can beat us?” He mused, soft lips dancing around each syllable. “I'd like to see you try.”

“Deal.” I retorted, shaking his hand curtly. Oh god, how I loathed the gloves on our hands at that moment, keeping our skin so cruelly parted.

“May the best team win.” He nodded, finishing the contract with a wax seal that may as well have imprinted it's crest upon my very skin. As they'd made their leave, I'd heard one of his raven haired companions question whether antagonizing us was such a good idea, referring to him by name in the process.

Kyle. Never had a name tasted so sweet.

So pure and fantastical, even when sighed hotly between filthy sheets. Kyle. Kyle. _Kyle_.

They'd beaten us by a mere five dollars and seventy cents. He grinned playfully as he took his leave, glancing at me over his shoulder as they left to regroup. From then on, it was set in stone. Regardless of the indifference of many of our fellow singers, the war we had waged raged on silently. We catch each other’s eyes as we pass in the streets, gazes mischievous and challenging. We glare each other down across the food court of the local mall, holding silent exchanges. _Just you wait, this year we will show you exactly who owns this town._

 

* * *

 

 

“You're crazy.” Wendy sighs, picking distractedly at the unfortunately empty pages of Butters' worn _Hello Kitty_ notebook. 

“Crazy obsessed, more like.” Kenny quips, catty grin on his face widening as I shoot him a scalding glare. “Like it's got absolutely nothing to do with the old carrot top you've been pining over since _forever_.”

“You don't know what you're talking about.” I growl, patting his back a little too roughly for comfort. “It's healthy to engage in a little well-meaning competitiveness every now and then.”

“Can you not?” asks Bebe, eager to stop anything impeding our progress in the hopes that we would finish in time for her to get home before the _Say Yes to the Dress_ marathon starts. “Regardless of where he wants to stick his dick, it _would_ be nice to win for once. We just need to choose some good songs and cute outfits.”

“Exactly.” I agree with a little too much enthusiasm, eager to escape the knowing glances. “We need to gain an upper hand before its too late – we can't leave this to chance! I've been working on a plan...”

“We're not killing anyone.” Wendy states bluntly, being the typical killjoy I'd grown to expect.

“I don't recall calling the morality police to come and rain on the festive parade.” I retort. “Give me some credit, I'm well aware you would all pussy out if we did and unfortunately there is no way we can win without the whole group there. I'm stuck at a homicidal impasse.”

“Oh God… d-don't get us arrested! My grip isn't strong enough, I'll drop the-” Tweek starts, cradling his thermos tightly to his chest. Reassuring, Craig hushes him as he draws the neurotic blonde close - glaring daggers at me for setting him off.

Oh _please_. The boy would drop dead if a fly so much as looked at him funny; I can't exactly be held responsible.

“Regardless, we need to play to our strengths if we plan on seriously taking them on. They might be… more eye catching, and they might even have better songs, but there is something they could never beat us at – and this is our key to success.”

“Insanity?”

“No, but close. It's a little thing called local spirit.”

 

* * *

 

 

Pop Tarts? Check.

Saran wrap? Check.

Beer? Check.

Christmas pudding? Check.

Brandy? Check.

...Eggnog?

“God fucking damn it.” I grumble under my breath, checking what seems to be the hundredth shelf. Surely it would be with the other beverages? I pick up another carton, only to be greatly disappointed.

Non-alcoholic _and_ low fat? Some people must lead such bleak existences.

I briefly consider flinging it across the isle, but I figure they'll just make me pay for it once it's splattered all over the garish walls. Decisions, decisions.

“Picking up supplies for the big day?” A teasing voice sounds from behind me, almost causing me to drop my basket. “I reckon it's a good idea to keep those vocal cords lubricated, you guys will need all the help you can get.”

I'd know that voice from anywhere.

“Pfft, you figure?” I retort, turning so I lean against the shelves. He was unexpectedly close, and once I face him my mouth goes dry as I register the close proximity at which he is standing. “You should watch your mouth, you won't be so cocky once we hand it to you this year.”

“Oh dear, I am so tremendously scared.” Kyle shudders in mock horror, parting his lips as he adopts an expression of theatrical fear. Given that cold weather dries out even the sweetest of lips, his are saliva slicked - glistening under the discoloured supermarket lighting. Jesus Christ, what I wouldn't do just to get a little taste…

“You should be.” comes my response, voice a little uneven. “This year is going to be something else. We have a plan to wipe you into the ground, just you see.”

He raises a single eyebrow in intrigue, which when paired with that mischievous smirk threatens to turn my knees into jelly. I just want to eat him all up, get my fill of him them lick my fingers once I'm done. Savour every taste of this forbidden fruit. Despite the cold he wears a green polo shirt beneath his open coat, the top few buttons undone in order to reveal a few more inches of tantalizing milky skin, seemingly for the sole purpose of driving me insane.

“Well I guess all will be revealed on the night, won't it? Try not to take the fall too hard, mister…?”

“Eric. Eric Cartman.” I reply, shaking his hand firmly. It's the first time our skin has ever touched without the interference of a pesky material blockade, and the moment is undeniably heavenly. I feel the warmth of that pale skin, and I only hope he didn't notice the shiver that runs down my spine at the contact. I reluctantly withdraw my hand before it reaches the point of awkwardness, wiping my sweaty palm on my jeans as I try to pull them up a little in the hopes of containing the growing issue in my pants.

“Kyle.” He asserts, and naturally I'm already well aware. “Kyle Broflovski.”

“Broflovski… you're Jewish?” I ask without thinking, taken aback by the revelation. “But Christmas! How does it even work?”

“The singing you mean? It just kind of happened I guess. I used to sing with my brother when we were younger, and people liked it so I just continued. He ended up getting really sick, but this charity helped us with his recovery and I wanted to help give back to them, you know? The local singing group were raising money for them by singing over the Christmas period, and he'd insisted that I'd join. I've sung with them ever since. It's actually pretty fun, and most songs aren't really about how great Jesus is so I don't really have an issue with it.”

“What do you know...” I shake my head in disbelief, mostly just to provoke a reaction – there's nothing quite like the way his eyebrows furrow in frustration, making cute little wrinkles on his forehead. “A Jew spreading Christmas spirit. Never thought I'd see the day.”

“Oh piss off.” He chuckles in a way that isn't exactly unfriendly, causing my own smile to grow instinctively as my pulse picks up it's pace. “I never thought I'd see a fatass drinking low fat eggnog.”

His words remind me of my previous task, and I hastily return the carton to it's resting place atop the shelf. I would get angry at the lazy insult, but his teasing words lacked any traces of venom. It seems playful, even friendly.

“Yeah right, I was caught unaware whilst searching for the real stuff. I'm a real man that likes his eggnog rich with the joys of lard and liquor.”

“I guess I'm not a 'real man' then.” Kyle muses, moving closer as he reaches for the carton. It's like he'd stood on my chest, winding me completely as he moves in. All I'd need to do is lift my hand a little… draw in a little closer…

He smirks at his own joke, exhaling in some half chuckle as he takes the pink flesh of his lip between his teeth. I feel the warm air in the space between us, and I swear to fucking God he's trying to kill me here and now. That bite; it's sweet and innocent yet sultry and seductive rolled into one. A lesser man would have given in and bitten that lip himself.

Not a real man? Oh, if only you knew how wrong you are.

“But then again… perhaps I just find my excitement in other things.” His singsong voice combined with the open suggestiveness of his words has my boxers shrinking, heart pounding, palms sweating. “I'm not the type to gamble per se, but I'm not exactly opposed to a good old fashioned wager. What do you say we make this years festivities a little more... interesting?”

Holy shit. A million possibilities rush through my head at blinding speed. I can't help but partake.

“I'm listening.” I reply, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “What exactly do you propose?”

“You seem determined you'll win this time, right? Well, if _we_ win, you have to sacrifice _all_ of your winnings to our cause. What terms do _you_ suggest?”

“If we win...?” Oh wow, this is just too good. So many options, so many wonderful possibilities. I know if I take it too far he'd be put off or change his mind completely, but I could never bring myself to waste this golden ticket without at least getting a little slice of the chocolate factory.

I'm sure I could play it off as a joke, make it seem as if my motives are based purely in his humiliation – I'm good at people, making them believe what I want them to… I can't be that transparent, right? He has no reason to think otherwise.

“If we win, or rather _when_? You have to kiss me. Full on.”

He freezes a moment, taken aback. His reaction makes me fear I'd gone to far, but once a grin spreads across his face I regain the ability to breathe. Operation Heaven is go.

“Hmm, I didn't quite take you to be so bold… kudos. Very well, if you raise more than us I will kiss you right there and then.. But in respect to that it seems a little unbalanced. How about this: if we win, you give us the money and you will be my personal servant for 24 consecutive hours – you will stay at my apartment, of course – and if you win, I will kiss you in front of everyone, as much as you want for as long as you want. Deal?”

Things just got a whole lot more real… but I have faith in our abilities. Slavery hardly seems like an attractive prospect (except from the whole accommodation part, naturally) but I don't consider it much. Very soon I'll have him by the neck.

...Or lips, more precisely.

“Oh it's on alright. Just make sure to brush your teeth; I'm not the biggest fan of Jew food.”

“In your dreams,” He dismisses, a mischievous twinkle in those bright eyes. “perhaps you should start calling me master… get some practice in while you still can.”

 

* * *

 

 

We've hit the jackpot. Half an hour in and we've already met our usual total.

It's ingenious yet simple, like all of the best plans. We go from door to door with our eye catching costumes, adorned with tinsel and fairy lights. Bebe seemed rather timid about the whole 'sexy elf' thing at first but once seeing the shoes she had no more complaints, unlike Wendy who'd seemed rather scandalized at the whole concept and simply opted for a reindeer sweater. It had been a battle to dress Craig as he'd deemed the whole attire as 'a stupid fucking Christmas tree costume', but Tweek's insistence that he looked adorable had sealed the matter. We sing some of the classics mixed with new renditions and tunes, frequenting the favourites… but the icing of the cake comes in the sale tactic.

“Good evening!” Bebe calls cheerfully, presenting a bucket decorated with the town flag. “We're the _official_ South Park singers, and we'd be honoured to sing for you today. 20% of the money we raise goes towards supporting the South Park Cows, 40% to the Stark's Pond improvement fund, and the other 40% helps pay to make next years Christmas decorations the best yet! It's great to help out and raise a bit of local spirit during the holidays, and we're comprised entirely of the towns best singers.”

After eyeing up Bebe's cleavage he gladly places another ten bucks in the pot before calling his wife and children to come and listen. I can feel Wendy grinding her teeth from where I'm stood, and I can't help but grin as her glare burns through the back of my jacket. We churn out a few guaranteedmoneymakers before progressing to the next house. At this rate we'll have won in no time.

“I swear Kenny, if they let us sing _Fairytale of New York_ we'd make double.” I begin, pinching his water bottle and taking a large swig. I sputter a little once I'm met with the burn of cheap vodka, but I'm not exactly surprised. I take a few more sips before handing it back with an appreciative nod.

“Not that we need to considering how well we're doing. If we did you'd totally sing the chick part… no, scratch that. You calling me a faggot would be a little ironic. Speaking of which, I think someone is looking at you.”

I follow his gaze over my shoulder, soon catching on as soon as I see a familiar forest green ushanka turning the corner, it's wearer watching me intently. I return his challenging stare, unwilling to look remotely fazed by the challenge in those dreamy obs.

Oh yes. It's only a matter of time now until I take a bite of sweet _sweet_ victory.

“Someone seems interested… and it's not just you. Huh...”

“Shut up, moron.” I scold him playfully, punching his arm. “It's not like that. Lets just say the competitive spirit has been bought up a notch.”

“As in…?”

“If we win, he'll make out with me. I'm dead seriously.”

He looks at me disbelievingly for a moment, but once he sees how truly serious I am he high-fives me graciously, pleased at my good fortune.

“How on Earth did you manage that? Santa must be pleased with you this year, god knows why. No wonder you were so desperate to win. ”

“At first I just wanted to win for the sake of winning… until I met him at the supermarket. It was even his idea. Not the kissing bit of course, just the wager.”

“You smooth fucker… What if we lose though?”

“It won't come to that.” I insist, and I see the worry in his eyes immediately. “It's really not bad – for you guys at least – I swear.”

“I sure hope so. Come on then, if we're going to try and get you laid we better get going. I'll even sing my best, but you owe me one.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

I can feel the palpable excitement from the group, the buzz of anticipation in the air as we meet up in our usual spot outside the Church. The others are yet to show up but there is still a few minutes before the deadline, giving us time to take account of our winnings. As I tip out the bucket it's clear to see we have more money than usual, and Kenny gives me an excited look as he realizes what this probably means. Equally eager, we get to work counting the money. After a triple check, it's confirmed. We're raised a colossal $121.95, more than we've ever come close to gathering before. As the guys from Fairplay come over it's clear from the smug looks directed at them that we're confident in our victory. Some of the members appear a little put off by our confidence but Kyle seems as assured as ever, if only a little curious.

“How much?” He simply asks, looking me dead in the eyes.

“I sure hope you have some breath mints.” I simply chuckle, brandishing our bucket. “One hundred and twenty-one dollars, and ninety-five cents.”

He looks impressed, yet strangely not intimidated. He grabs their bucket, and the devious sparkle in his eye has my stomach seemingly dropping to the floor before he even confirms my suspicions.

“One hundred and twenty-three, down to the dime. Feel free to confirm.”

We send Butters over to compare the numbers, knowing there is no way he could lie about the contents. We watch him eagerly, begging for a miracle, desperate that some mistake has been made.

“I-I'm sorry fellas, they were bein' honest. It was a real good effort though, I'm proud of you all.”

No.

No no no no no no _no._

“ _Eric,_ could we chat for a minute?” Kyle grins, pulling me away from the crowd. We settle behind several trees, the moonlight shining through the leaves and giving his perfect form an almost eerie silver glow.

“Okay, I get it. You win, I lose. The money is yours.” I sigh in defeat, crossing my arms in frustration. “Take it.”

“It's okay,” He smiles, and I can't help but wonder if he's up to something. He won fair and square, and it was what we'd agreed to. “I doubt you told them about that, did you? It would be hard for you to explain, and you worked hard for it. All of you.”

“Thanks… so you're letting us off?”

“I never said that, I just said forget about the money. You already promised those people that their money would go to the town and I don't want to trick them by changing that. Regardless, Your obligations will be carried out in full. No buts.”

I knew this was coming, but it still doesn't suck any less. I should at least be grateful I don't need to give him the money, but I can't get over that missed opportunity. Less than two dollars, and everything would have been different. He would be in my arms, his lips against mine – willing as he promised.

“Fine.” I grumble insolently, accepting my comeuppance. “Do as you will.”

“You're sad, aren't you?” He asks, honestly wondering. I look away, casting my gaze down less out of shame and moreso out of fear he'd notice the blush that had crept onto my cheeks.

“I'm not sure if that's the right word, but no-one likes losing.”

“No, it's more than that, isn't it? It's about the wager. I wasn't sure how seriously to take you back then, but it's written all over your face now… You really meant it.”

“Fuck off.” I growl, effectively confirming his suspicions. “You got what you wanted, right?”

“Not quite… I'm not so sure I like that expression on you.”

“I'm not your slave yet, I can look however I want. You c-can't...”

My words fade, dying in my throat as he comes closer, watching me with purpose. I forget how to breathe entirely as I meet those eyes with my own. I _hate_ whoever gave him those eyes… they're a thing of pure evil. I feel my insides scald and melt as I loose myself in those endless emerald pools, forgetting how to breathe entirely as they drop down to my lips.

Slowly, hesitantly, he raises his hand. His fingers briefly ghost across the line of my jaw until his thumb comes to rest upon my lip, mouth still parted in shock at his actions. Taken aback, I look up to see his equally timid expression, his brow furrowed in deep thought. The digit trails across my bottom lip, causing it to tingle madly from the contact as it makes it's way to the corner of my mouth, lifting it up in an odd half-smile.

“That's better.” He whispers, seemingly to himself. His breath is hot in the space between us, causing goosebumps to rise across the surface of my skin. “Much better.”

“What are you-” I whisper, but my voice is stopped by a pair of soft lips against my own.

The kiss is soft, chaste even – yet it stirs a passion within me that is unrivaled by even the most lewd and desperate locking of lips. I might as well have drowned in him, breath coming short until I question weather he'd killed me entirely and I was enraptured in the throes of post-mortem bliss. My hands twitch at my sides, desperate to hold him until my thirst for him is sated but they remain restrained out of fear of chasing him away.

He's so close, I can almost feel the beat of his heart… does his race like mine does? Does this make his knees weak and head light, too? I like to think he feels the same as I do, and the insistent yet indulgent dance of our lips makes the prospect not so unimaginable after all.

Once he breaks the contact - watching me with half lidded eyes as he retreats – I bite my lip in an attempt to quell the rampant tingling, catching his eyes. Even in this dim lighting I see his irises darkening, pupils widening as he watches the action with apparent interest. He lets out a low breath, manifested as clouds of vapour in the air as the moisture travels in the narrow between us, catching on the fabric my coat. Our gazes meet and his eyes briefly reflect the confusion in my own before reverting back to his typical self-assured state, maintaining the mask of composure.

He swallows thickly, delicious Adam's apple bobbing prominently in that delectable throat.

“If you're aggravated, you would make a pretty poor servant.” He reasons, dropping eye contact in favour of picking at an uneven cuticle. “And given how hard you all tried, it seems like a victory in itself. You should at least get a consolation prize.”

Consolation prize? A consolation prize is like a voucher for a shop you hate or a box of bargain-bin chocolates, a plastic medal or free gift wrap.

That was like winning the fucking lottery a thousand times over; he must be insane to think otherwise.

“I guess.” I reply, trying not to sound too shaken. “It's not really a huge deal, considering the horrors you'll probably subject me to tomorrow.”

“Well, you'll just have to wait and see.” He teases, the adorable smirk on his face lighting up not only his eyes but seemingly the entire world itself. He reaches into his jacket, retrieving a slip of paper and scribbling something down before handing it to me.

“Seven thirty sharp tomorrow morning. Dress nicely.” He instructs before rushing off past the trees, rejoining the rest of his group.

I simply stand there silent and lost in the clearing, snow swirling around my frozen figure. I stay bewildered in the dark, a crumpled note clutched tightly between my fingers, clung to like a lifeline.

 

_Apartment 3,_

_7 Vista Street East_

_Fairplay CO_

-

_Come by tomorrow morning, I'll buzz you in. My number is (719) 584 9473, feel free to text me._

_Good behaviour is strictly mandatory, naturally._

_Who knows, if you do well I might be feeling a little generous again. - Kyle_

 


End file.
